


They/Them/Theirs

by TC (thecollective)



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade Summer Challenge Fic Dump [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe, Destiel Smut Brigade, Fingerfucking, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderswap, Oral Sex, Other, Panty Kink, Smut, Summer, Swimming Pools, Tan lines, agender!Castiel, coconut oil, fem!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot. So are Castiel's tan lines, and Deanna would like to get better acquainted with them. (A part of the Destiel Smut Brigade Summer Challenge. Prompt: tan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	They/Them/Theirs

**Author's Note:**

> So part of the DSB challenge is to challenge myself, so I've written Dean as a woman and Cas as an agender individual who prefers they/them/their pronouns (in this fic, Cas was born biologically female, but the only time that matters is in describing anatomy during the sex). It's my first time writing a genderswap and agender, so I think I met the challenge. A special thank you to the Collectiva Diva & jacksqueen16 for believing in me when I don't know what the hell I'm doing. 
> 
> I know I'm a bit late in posting this, but I did get on a plane and fly 6000 miles a few days ago, so can we just blame jet lag?
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, but if I did, I'd bring back character consistency.

At 3:05 pm everyday during the summer, Deanna Winchester sneaks away from her desk at the insurance company and buys a Dr. Pepper from the third floor vending machine. It’s her version of a coffee break, since the summer months make it too hot for real coffee and she refuses to give Starbucks a sizeable portion of her soul for one damn mocha frappuccino.

On this particular day, however, the third floor vending machine fucking broke, and the fourth floor was out of Dr. Pepper. Deanna’s life without caffeine will soon become a disgusting cesspit of misplaced anger and headaches if she doesn’t locate the Doctor soon. Frustrated, she sneaks up to the hippie natural medicine offices on the fifth floor, hoping that at least one person amongst the health nuts is normal and has a sweet tooth.

Deanna finds the vending machine just in front of the elevators. Someone is bent over in front of it, their arm wedged up in the machine trying to grab a half-fallen bag of chips. Deanna is about to offer her help when this person shifts a little to the left, the movement hitching up the back of their crisp white shirt.

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, those tanlines._

Deanna wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with such an ass. The tanlines form a perfect T, the white skin contrasting with the sunkissed skin like whipped cream on the golden crust of a freshly baked apple pie. Frankly, Deanna doesn’t care if such an ass belongs to a man or a woman--and from this angle it looks like it could be either.

Person With the Perfect Ass stands up, turns, and the popping of the lid on their Coke Zero is in sync with Deanna’s heart skipping a beat. “Uh, hello,” Deanna squeaks to the woman with the most fuckin breathtaking blue eyes she’s ever seen.

“Hello,” says the woman. Her voice is like being next to a fireplace during a snowstorm, all heat, and Deanna wants to crawl inside of it and live there forever. The woman moves to the side, giving Deanna plenty of room to access the vending machine. Deanna brushes by her, her body very aware of the toned tan arms.

Deanna wants to know where all this woman’s tan lines are, and then, she wants to map them with her tongue. She takes a deep breath and pushes her $1.25 into the machine, realising belatedly that the machine only carries Diet Dr. Pepper. She pushes the button anyway, and after retrieving her drink, she turns to find the woman staring at her.

“Uh, hi,” Deanna says.

“Hello. Again.” The woman peers at the can in Deanna’s hand. “Did you come to our floor solely to obtain a beverage?”

Who talks like that?

“Uh...maybe?” Is there a rule against other floors using vending machines?

The woman smiles. “You should come up more often. We are the only floor with Diet Dr. Pepper.” She says it almost like a purr.

Deanna’s completely fucking twitterpated, like friggin Thumper from _Bambi._ “Uh, yeah, I’ll do that.”

The woman smiles again and Deanna figures she could deal with that no-calorie crap soda if it means seeing those that smile--and those tan lines--again.

***

“Do you know anyone on the fifth floor?” Deanna asks Charlie. They’re sitting in Charlie’s office, eating Cheetos and wasting time while the boss is gone on a “long lunch” with his secretary. Charlie’s the IT specialist and does whatever she wants anyway because she claims to know every single person’s porn kinks from their google search histories. “It’s like no one’s ever heard of web proxy servers,” she likes to complain.

Deanna doesn’t know what that means, but she now knows to use Anonymouse when she gets a little curious about _things_.

“Um, yeah, I know a few people,” Charlie says, “Fifth floor is full of cool dudes. Well, not all of them are dudes. You know what I mean.”

“Do you, uh, know a chick with dark hair, blue eyes, and an ass that could make J.Lo cry?”

Charlie smacks her. “You’re so, ugh, like a dude sometimes.”

“Well do you?”

Charlie purses her lips and pretends to think for a minute. “No,” she says.

“She, uh, has really sexy tan lines?”

Charlie gives her a dirty look, one that gives a non-verbal rant about how women are worth more than their genitalia. Deanna’s heard it before.

“She drinks Coke Zero?” Deanna tries again.

Charlie’s eyes widen. “OH! You mean Castiel? Dee, that’s so not a chick.”

“Well, uh I mean, she kinda looked like a chick? But the short sex hair is popular for guys too so I mean…”

Charlie smacks him again, and then takes pity on her. “Let me tell you about a little thing called the gender spectrum,” she says. She gives Deanna a lesson in agender, preferred pronouns, and one sexy-as-hell ambiguous person named Castiel.

***

“No, Sammy, I don’t think that dating websites promote human connection,” Deanna sighs into the phone. “Why? Because I think they’re stupid.” She drops her change in the vending machine, and Sam continues his lecture on “putting herself out there.” His latest attempt to “help” her involved him creating a profile for her on morefishinthesea.com.

She’d put Kool-Aid in his shower head for that one.

The can of Diet Dr. Pepper is wedged between the glass and a row of Snickers. She thumps her fist on the glass. Nothing. “Fuck this,” she groans. “No, Sam, that wasn’t at you. Ok, fine, I’ll talk to you later.” She thumps the glass again. Still nothing. “Bastard son of a eunuch,” she mutters.

“Your chosen curse is illogical.” The voice is like the pinot noir she drank last night--dark and rich and it makes Deanna’s fingers tingle. She turns, hoping that the voice belongs to someone with blue eyes and a habit of tanning in a g-string.

Blue eyes. _Score_.

She--no, _they_ , Deanna mentally corrects herself--flicks her--damn it _their_ \--eyes to the vending machine. In one swift movement, she-- _THEY_ \--are on their knees, their arm up to its elbow in the vending machine and wow Deanna’s never seen anyone bend like that, and she once dated a figure skater. The Diet Dr. Pepper falls free, and the woman--uh, this human--scoops it up and offers it to Deanna. “Uh, thanks,” Deanna says. She offers her hand. “I’m Deanna.”

“Castiel.”

“I know.” Deanna’s cheeks warm. “Charlie told me.”

“What else did she tell you, I wonder?” Castiel is flirting, if the slight quirk in the lips and arched eyebrow are an indication.

“She didn’t tell me your number,” Deanna blurts out. Smooth, Dee, smooth as sand paper. She kinda wants to fall in a pool now, one that will probably be filled with her own shame.

Castiel asks for her cell phone, so Deanna fishes it out of her pocket. They tap their number into her phone and hand it back with a crisp “You may text me while you pretend to work if you wish.” Then they saunter away and damn, Deanna hates to see them go but loves to watch them leave.

An hour later, Deanna fishes her phone out of her purse. It’s a Friday and there’s fifteen minutes left on the clock, so what’s the point in starting on a new case of identity fraud?

**Deanna: hi this is Deanna 4:45 pm**

**Castiel: hello. 4:46 pm**

**Castiel: are you pretending to work? 4:46 pm**

**Deanna: ...yes? are you? 4:47 pm**

**Castiel: [picture message attached] 4:48 pm**

**Deanna: you can text and do yoga at the same time? 4:49 pm**

**Castiel: My job requires me to be very flexible ;) 4:50 pm**

Oh god, this woman, no, Castiel, was going to be the death of her.

***

Fuck July. Fuck summer. Fuck sunshine. _Fuck global warming_. Deanna had come into the office this morning (okay, a little closer to noon because she’d stayed up late texting Castiel) to find that the AC had gone kaput over the weekend, probably having given up the will to live after ten straight days of staggering heat. But her boss had thrown a water bottle at her head and said gruffly, “If the soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq can stand it, so can we.” And really, that’s not fair because it’s not like Kansas is a friggin war zone. She glances at the clock. She’s made it almost five hours but she’s not sure she can last another ten minutes in the sweltering heat. She wonders if Castiel’s medicinal yoga classes have been cancelled. She pulls out her phone.

**Deanna: It’s too hot to work. Wanna ditch? 4:06 pm**

**Castiel: To what purpose? 4:10 pm**

**Deanna: The purpose of not being at work 4:13**

**Castiel: 27 Peach Street 4:14 pm**

**Deanna: ?? 4:15 pm**

**Castiel: I have a pool 4:16 pm**

***

Castiel’s house is bigger than the last three apartments that Deanna has lived in. Combined. She forces herself to take deep breaths before she rings the doorbell, because the house is just the whipped cream topping on a ice cream sundae of nerves. She hasn’t felt this awkward since she lost a bet to Sam and went to prom wearing a chicken suit.

Castiel answers the door wearing, well, Deanna isn’t sure what it is. It looks a bit like a ninja suit. “So, swimming?” Deanna whimpers, because she’s thinking about Castiel’s ass again and how fucking amazing it’s gotta look in the ninja suit thing. Castiel leads the way to the pool and really Deanna thanks all the gods that her boss, Lucifer, gets squeamish as soon as she mentions “lady problems” and tells her to leave work and not come back until she feels better.

“Go on,” Castiel says, nudging her toward the pool. They perch that perfect ass on a beach chair, a hideous orange and green contraption that is probably designed by a clown from hell. Deanna sucks in a breath before she shucks her shirt, flattening her abs, and tightens her glutes before she does the same with her jeans. Castiel looks at her likes she’s the only water for miles and they’re stranded in the Sahara desert. She dives into the pool to escape that penetrating gaze and maybe to cool of a little bit too, both literally and figuratively. When she breaches the surface, she sees Castiel has moved so their feet are dangling in the water.

“Too cold for you?” Deanna teases.

“On the contrary,” they reply, “It might be too hot to handle.”

Be cool, just be cool, Deanna prays. “Well, you’ll never know until you try,” she says.

“Indeed,” Castiel says as they slide into the water. The movement is as sinuous as it is sexy, and she knows where this is headed. She watches the sleek lines of Castiel’s body glide through the water. Perhaps they were a mermaid in another life.

It’s a game of cat-and-mouse that they are playing, each swimmer openly ogling the other’s body but keeping to their side of the pool. Perhaps it’s actually more like sharks, Deanna thinks, circling their prey. She splashes Castiel every once in a while, mostly because she enjoys the slightly terrified look on their face, like a puppy that realizes it’s about to get a bath. Eventually Castiel announces that they are tired of swimming and would rather tan instead. Confused as to how they’ll tan while wearing a ninja suit, Deanna’s mouth drops when Castiel slithers out of the bodysuit to reveal an expanse of smooth, tanned flesh. She swears that the sky opens up and plays the Hallelujah Chorus because this? This must be heaven.

Either Castiel doesn’t notice the codfish thing that Deanna’s doing with her mouth, or they don’t care. They abandon the ninja suit on the edge of the pool, and lay down on their stomach, their only clothing a single cornflower blue strip of fabric separating the two hemispheres of Castiel’s glorious ass. “Butt floss,” is what Sam would call the g-string. (Deanna really shouldn’t think about Sam right now.)

Castiel holds up a bottle of coconut oil. “Will you assist me?” they ask.

“O-okay.” The oil is slippery in her hands. She concentrates on Castiel’s shoulders and upper back, because they’re safe zones. She knows that once her hands dip too low, it’ll be the point of no return or some other fucking cliche crap. Castiel’s breath comes out in little pants, almost like they’re dreaming. The oil glistens on their bronzed skin, and Deanna wants in a way that she hasn’t in a long time. “Can, can I?” she whispers. Her eyes are glued to that strip of blue fabric nestled between Castiel’s ass cheeks. They don’t reply, just grab Deanna’s hand and place it on the gentle curve of their lower back. She recognizes that Castiel’s giving her a choice. She can stay in the safe zone, keep this as a friend doing a friend a favor by putting suntan oil on them. Or she can take the plunge, move her hand a few inches lower, and see where this goes. She remembers Sam’s speech about “taking a risk” and hey, what the hell, she only lives once, right?

Her oiled fingers slide under that tantalizing strip of blue fabric, pushing it to one side and revealing the most tempting skin she’s ever touched. She gives into the urge she had the first time she saw it, and traces the pale flesh with her tongue. Castiel moans into their arms, which are folded under their face. “More,” they whisper. Deanna grows bolder, licking and kissing her way across the silhouette of Castiel’s g-string. Half of her wants to rip the fabric off and kiss every inch of her new lover’s body, and the other half wants to just go with the panty kink she never knew she had. Okay, that’s a lie because there was that one time...anyway the panty kink wins.

Her hands drift underneath the fabric, tracing the curve of Castiel’s hips. She’s not sure what to do next because she’s never been with anyone like Castiel. Does being agender change how things work? It’s like playing cricket when you’ve only played baseball. It seems familiar, but the rules are different. Castiel seems to sense her hesitancy, because they reach out and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Touch me,” they say. So Deanna does, letting her hands wander all over that glorious ass. “Lower,” they say. She trails her fingers down the blue fabric, pressing in slightly as she does. She rubs over where she knows Castiel’s clit is, and that earns her a deep, throaty moan from her lover. “More,” they say.

As much as she loves Castiel’s ass, she nudges them to roll over. Castiel’s front is as gloriously toned as her backside, and Deanna kisses her way up their body. Her hand dips under the blue fabric and rubs their clit a little more roughly. Oh, Cas seems to like that, because they buck up into her hand. “Kiss me,” they say.

Castiel’s lips are softer than Deanna expected. The kiss deepens and Cas moans into Deanna’s mouth, pulls her more on top of them. They’re both sweating now, because it’s still July and the sun is still fuckin hot; and the coconut oil bottle has tipped over and they’re a slippery mess but it’s fucking perfect. “What do you want me to do to you?” she asks.

“Fuck me,” they say.

She kisses Cas again and moves her hand a little lower. Castiel’s breath hitches when one finger slips inside them, and they damn near purr when Deanna adds a second one. She pumps the fingers in and out, slowly, until Castiel bites her bottom lip. “ _I said, fuck me_.” Castiel growls when she adds a third finger, and screams when she adds the fourth. Her fingers are being gripped like a vice, and Deanna kisses her way back down Castiel’s body. She lingers around their nipples, twirling her tongue around them before continuing her path south.

The tan lines are just as alluring in the front. Cas pushes the g-string to the side so Deanna can see them. Finely trimmed pubic hair frames the most beautiful puss Deanna’s ever seen (although she’s not sure if she can call Castiel’s that). She sucks a kiss on Cas’s inner thigh. On an inward thrust of her fingers, she curls them to hit Cas’s g-spot, and at the same moment she leans down and traces Castiel’s clit with her tongue, licking it like an ice cream cone.

Castiel back arches and they cry out. Deanna does it again and again and again until Castiel’s back is so arched they’re hardly touching the chair at all. “Make me come,” they say. Deanna pumps her fingers harder, faster, and then recites her ABCs. With her tongue. On Castiel’s clit. Castiel whimpers, grabs Deanna’s hair, fingers intertwining in Deanna’s shoulder-length mane, thighs locking around her head. “Yes, fuck yes,” they cry out as they come.

It takes a few minutes for Castiel’s breathing to even out, and Deanna’s content to press kisses along every tan line on their body. Eventually, Cas pulls her up for another kiss, not seeming to care that they can taste themselves. For as often as Deanna’s imagined kissing them over the past few weeks, she didn’t think it would be like this, so comfortable. Kissing Cas is the most comfortable thing Deanna’s ever done; it feels like coming home.

A really damn sexy home.

Castiel pulls back. “Do you need some oil on your back?” they ask.

Deanna smiles. “A little couldn’t hurt.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to read the other fics in the DSB Summer Challenge!  
> You can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/dearcollectress) or on [Tumblr](http://casual-female-viewer.tumblr.com).
> 
> Kudos & comments are love. <3


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